The Deal
by PanicButton
Summary: Spencer goes to visit someone to buy something special. Told firstly through the eyes of Albion and then via Spencer. Adult. A bit of adult language. Drugs, sex, mild violence. Spencer/Albion. One Shot. Set around the end of season three.


**THE DEAL**

"_Whether you sniff it, smoke it, eat it or shove it up your ass the result is the same: addiction."__―__William S. Burroughs_

**Albion**

I can't see you. The light is in the wrong place. No glasses tonight. Step forward. I like to see the face of the person I'm dealing with. The light is behind you so you can see me. Don't you think it polite that I can also see you?

What's the problem? You look nervous today. Twitchy little thing that you are. I call you little though you're taller than me because of what you are, not how you appear. Don't give me that look, just step forward. I've got what you want, do you have the money? You know you can trust me. When have I ever let you down? That's why you come to me isn't it? You trust me not to poison you.

Oh that look on your face! That look which tells me that you think you're better than me, but you're not. You're a liar and a cheat. You're a deceiver. I know all about you, Spencer… what do you know about me? Not so much? Do you want to know? No? Not interested. Not that your attitude surprises me at all. Who wants to know about me and my struggles and what I have to go through every day to keep my wife and child happy. A small baby! Tiny and pink and needs something to keep her bum dry and food in her stomach. Don't look so shocked. What did you think? You thought that no one could ever want me? Does my appearance repel you? Yours does me. Twitching, sweating and desperate… that's what you are. After some of my magical juices to inject into your body to stop you from seeing what you really are. Think no one can see it? Think that because you feel you can function better with poison rattling through your system that you actually look normal and sane? You don't. I can tell you that much because I know that you're not going to stop doing this because of what one dealer says to you in a back alleyway next to an over full dumpster.

I'm not the one who gets drunk and vomits in the gutter. That's you. That's you and your inability to keep your brain working correctly. It's you who goes to the dirty little whores to get his jollies. Not me. Don't look at me like that. Think I don't know who you are, Spencer? How long have we been on first name terms now? You must think I'm a moron if you thought I didn't check out who you actually were.

No boyfriend around? No… that's why you've contacted me again. Feeling lonely and feeling abandoned. He's not going to come running back to you because you've taken more of this stuff. He's not going to magically reappear because you're high. I can tell he's not been around for a while though. No split lip. No yellowing bruises around the eyes. That hollow look is back. Poor thing. Miss that abusive bastard do you? Look at the state of you. Good-will clothing and a poor haircut. It's like a painting of despair. So you come to me to make it all better? Fool.

So we going to make this deal or not? I've got what you want. Need needles too? I've got them. Sterile and sweet in their sealed packaging with a tear off strip. Could get them from the clinic you know, but I'm guessing that Dr Reid doesn't want to be seen in a place like that. It'll cost you more though. I don't give this shit away, much as you seem to think I will.

Don't look at me like I'm the shit on the bottom of your shoe, Spencer. You called me, remember. It was you who asked to meet me here. It was your decision. I've never pushed anything on you. I just deliver the goods for the money… money which I will count and you know I will. After that time you short changed me. That was stupid. It also cost me money to pay someone to find you and give you a slapping. Nothing bad… nothing terrible… but a man has to have something to show he's not going to be shat on just because he's the one holding the drugs. You do realise, don't you, that if you report me – if you really are stupid enough to do something like that… you know what will happen to you, don't you? I have to have my insurance in place. I have to know that I'm safe with you and I know I am.

Again – you've done it again! Not enough cash here Spencer! What is your game? What do you think I am? You want my child to starve? You want that on your conscience? You like the thought that I would have no money to pay my rent and get me thrown onto the streets? Could you live with that thought? The rest of the money, Spencer or you get nothing. I could take this… this money and use that to pay someone else to give you a slap. Those wide eyes don't work on me. That look doesn't work. You're not going to give me some sob story and have me hand over goods at a cut price and no, I'm not going to trust that you'll hand over what you owe me. You still, really owe me from last time. Why do you do this shit, Spencer? You like the pain? You like to get a beating?

It's – amber – beautiful – delicious – can you walk away from it, Spencer. Can you? Does it let you sleep and not have nightmares? Does it make you feel in control? Your eyes are empty. There's nothing there. Nothing but need and greed and desperation. Why has your boss not seen it, or do they try to pretend it's not there. Poor Spencer… poor kid… he's had some bad times, give him a break… headaches and shit. You know? That's what puts that darkness under your eyes. You jump at your own shadow, but that's because of stress because of what a shit life you've had. It's not drugs. Spencer wouldn't do that. Spencer's not a junky who goes to find boys to fuck in the dark… in the park at night, under the bridge next to used condoms and needles. Next to dirty and discarded underwear… Spencer wouldn't hang around the public toilets. Not Spencer. That's not what you are. At least when you have this sparking in your blood, that's not what you are, is it? You can forget all that crap. Pretend you're someone else.

You don't want it now? Keep the money? Don't walk away from me! Don't you do that. Think I won't follow you, come to your lovely apartment and demand money from you? You think that this interaction is all about the drugs? Are you really that stupid… This money I'm waving under your nose is to silence me. It's to keep my mouth shut. It's to stop your friends knowing what you really are. I'll happily sell you drugs… but take it or not, I still want your money. I'll always want that from you. Put food in my kid's belly. Buy that hair-dye my wife needs to cover the few grey strands she has and she's not turned twenty yet! That's stress. That's hard living, Spencer. That's poverty. The lines on my face aren't there because of age. The thinning hair at the front isn't because of anything other than stress. I need my teeth seen to. I need my glasses sorted. Did I tell you that I broke them? Dropped them on the floor and trod on them. The rent has gone up again. Small fucking place I live in. Two damned rooms and one of those is the shitter. Have you any idea what it's like to live like that? I'm surrounded by filth and lies and you come here and try to short change me. You with more money than sense seem to think it's fine to do this to me?

Yeah – yeah – I'm following you… I'm not finished with you yet. Don't think that you can just walk away from me, boy! Don't you fucking ignore me. You came to me remember! Do I have to keep reminding you of that? You want this stuff, good shit… your Golden Girl… your sweet, sweet Brown Sugar… come on now… This is no Chinese crap, you chicken shit sleepwalker… this is the real shit. You need your balloon and I've got Harry sitting here in my pocket.

That's better. Turn to face me. I'm the paper boy and I know that. I can see the monkey on your back. Let me help you.

**Spencer**

I don't want you following me home. I don't want to be seen with you, can't you understand that? This was meant to be something quick and un-noticed. We're not friends. I don't like you. I don't care about your family or your hungry child. I just need that thing in your pocket. I've given you the money. You have what you wanted from me; now complete the transaction so I can leave.

You're not coming into my home. My private space. My safe and secure place. I don't want you here. There's no money in my home. There's nothing here for you. I said I will pay. I said I will get more money for you if the price has gone up, but I don't want you touching my things and looking at the books on my shelf. I don't want you knowing this side of me. You can watch and you can ask questions. You know who I am. I don't want you knowing what I am. Leave my books alone. Get off my couch and stop drinking my whiskey. It's not there for you.

I don't want to see you in the glare of the lights in my lounge. I don't want to see how sick you look or how your hair is falling out. I never wanted to know how blue your eyes were or see the scars on the inside of your arm. I didn't want you to see my tears and the shaking and the vomiting. This is private. It's mine. I never intended to share this part of me with some dirty backstreet drug dealer who looks twenty years older than he really is.

Is that what the drugs do? You're younger than me but look far older. Teeth missing? I can see that when you smile. I don't know what you've got to smile about. Is it the comfort of my couch or the taste of the alcohol which is putting that grin on your face? Or is the fact that you know I'll have to keep paying you money even if I don't want the goods.

Oh! I wasn't saying I didn't. Don't get me wrong there. As you said, I need it to take away the nightmares so I can sleep, so I can do my job. And they don't know. They'll never know, but you can't be here. I don't want to be able to smell you in the air after you've left. I don't want to be able to picture you sitting there on my couch in your grubby clothes with the dirt behind your fingernails and the worn down heels on your boots. There's nothing here for you. I need you to leave.

Friend? You ask if we are friends? No… certainly not. Do you have any idea what happens when I form a friendship with someone? Do you have a clue what would happen? I'm not the sort of person you can form that sort of bond with and I'm not going to pay to feed your child and make your wife look less worn down. That's not my job. That's not what I earn my money for, not to keep you happy. It's to keep me happy. You're just something I need to get by to reach that place.

My coffee making skills are apparently not too good. If you want coffee make your own. It's in the kitchen, rarely used room. I never invited you back here to sit there looking at my graphic novels, lounging on my leather couch, flicking ash into the ashtray on the coffee table. This was never what I intended.

You're making yourself a bit comfortable and I still don't have the extra cash you want and I'm not leaving you here so I can go to the ATM and get some. You should have said. I could have got some before we arrived.

Please leave. Come back tomorrow. I'll have the money for you then. I need to sleep. I have to rest. I can't leave you sitting there and sleep. No you cannot stay! You have a family to go back to, remember? What about your wife and child. What about them? Doesn't she worry when you don't go home?

Lies.

All of it lies.

Just leave. Go back to whatever hole it is you came from. But you won't. You threaten me. You say you're going to tell my boss what I get up to. He won't believe you. No one would believe someone like you. I know I've got an attitude. I know I'm not speaking to you in a way that I might get what I'm after, because you have no intention of handing it over, if you even have it on you. You've shown me nothing. You want to know about my scars? You want to compare suicide attempts? Fine… if that will get you out of my apartment. I'll show you the way I've hacked at my skin and the way it's been burned with cigarettes. Showing things like that doesn't mean we have something in common. It doesn't make us alike. I don't care what you think. We are not alike. Nothing alike.

What is it about this situation that you're finding so confusing? I can't give you what you want. You can help me out though. Maybe? I think you could. If you put your mind to it, you could understand that. Just give me something so I can sleep and not wake up screaming and thrashing around. I need one night! One night where I can sleep and know that I'll not wake up sweating, with the bedding wrapped around my legs and the feeling that I'm going to vomit over my pillow. Just that one night! Why can't you give me that? What can I give you in exchange? A promise? Come back tomorrow and I'll have more money for you. I'll give you my life savings for a steady supply of the poison that keeps my head straight and my mind feeling like it's not on fire. This constant pain in the belly – the panic attacks – the inability to think of anything but my next fix. I would do that. But you can't stay here tonight.

That's my bedroom. My bed. I don't want you near that. You need to get out. Get the hell out!

I didn't mean to hit you. I just needed you to leave. Why are you just standing there with that look of surprise on your face? Why won't you move away from my bed? What do you want that I've not already offered you? I'm not going to apologise that I made your nose bleed. Why should I? I was protecting myself from you… touching, touching and pawing my things which should never have been seen by you let alone touched. Press this cloth against your face. The bleeding has all but stopped. I didn't mean to hurt you.

Oh… no… get off my bed! I will be able to smell you on my pillows. I will have a constant reminder of you being here. I don't want… I don't want you here. How many times do I need to ask you to leave?

I never invited you in. Maybe I never told you not to follow me into my apartment. Maybe I left the door ajar for you… perhaps I did that. I can think of no other reason you're here getting blood on my bedding.

The smell of blood… It does something to me. Something which twists in my stomach and heaves in my head. It makes my own blood boil and flush through me like fire ants crawling under my skin. The sight of it smeared on the side of your face. That look of horror… that look… please, don't look at me like that. I said it was an accident… I never meant to hit you so hard. Lay back. Lay back and relax.

The taste of blood… That also does something to me. I know it shouldn't. I know it's vile. I know I don't have a clue whether you are clean. I've no idea. Where is the joy in life if you never take a risk? What is the point if you never get that kick of adrenaline? The blood is sweet. It has hints of elderberry. It's like the finest of wines. It makes my head fuzzy and the room spin around my head. That's the reason I'm sitting on the bed with you. There is no other reason. It was that or fall to the floor. There is blood on my fingers from where I touched your lip. The light in this room is much kinder. I can't see the pain on your face in here. I see something different. You look younger. Weirdly innocent. Strangely beguiling. Not something I've ever noticed on you before. Maybe it's the way your hair has fallen over your face, covering the receding hairline, or perhaps the light in here makes your eyes look huge and the colour of the summer sky.

I'm not flirting! You don't tell someone that their blood tastes like elderberries if you're flirting. Why would I do that? You don't do anything for me. You're not the sort I would go for. You stink. You stink of bins and rotting food. There is dirt in the creases of your skin. I don't care that you have no good washing facilities where you live. I don't care. Why would it bother me? You're just some backstreet bit of scum who I use…

I would offer you a shower, but I don't want you removing your clothing. Nothing personal. Ah… fine! Something very personal. I don't want a naked man in my apartment. Never meant to offend you. Or maybe I did.

There's a button missing on your shirt. I can see a triangle of skin. The shirt is dark grey and the skin under it is pale and soft and hairless. I suppose I could put your clothing in the washing machine. I could do that for you. Have a shower. Borrow my bathrobe. I'll wash your clothes… but… but maybe I don't want you clean. Maybe I like the dirt under your fingernails and the ground in filth on your hands. Perhaps my sole intention in all of this was to lure you back to my apartment and get what I really wanted from you.

This has nothing to do with drugs. We both know that. We've both been playing this game long enough to recognise the true intentions we both had. Neither of us innocent. Neither of us surprised by anything that's happened. Even that bloody nose was not unexpected. It was needed. It had to happen. It's all part of the mating ritual we had to go through to get to the point we are at now.

Stay the night. Stay with me. Don't leave. I know I said I didn't want you here. I know that I knowingly tried to short change you. I wanted you to follow me. I wanted you to come in and make yourself at home. I needed to see you sitting there on the couch smoking and drinking. I wanted other smells. Smells which are not made by me. Something to show that what happened was all real.

I needed the bruises. I have to have that part. I stand naked in front of the long mirror and inspect each one. You can inspect them with me. Touch each one. Remember how it got there. These from fingertips and this from an elbow. The bite marks stand there proud on my skin and I can feel you running your fingers over them remembering how it felt to do that to me and moaning softly in the back of your throat. There's still dried blood on your face. It's small flakes now. Most of it washed off with sweat.

My fingers ache. My knees are grazed. My jaw feels like it was dislocated. One of my toenails has gone black and my left ear is read and swollen. The muscles in my back and across my shoulders feel as though I've been having a workout. I guess I have! The best sort of workout. There's blood on the back of my legs and drying on my inner thigh. It should have hurt. I should be disgusted.

Let yourself out. Go back to the bin you live in. I've had what I need. Next time I need you I will call and we will play this game again.


End file.
